Dark Before the Dawn
by Silver Bee
Summary: Before she was a grandmother she was a mother. Before that... Slightly edited.


_Something different again. Hope you enjoy this one. I thought it was time Grandma got a story of her own. It's a proper one-shot and vaguely Christmassy! Many thanks to mcj for input into the character of Grant - I can't recommend 'Fences and Families' highly enough, it's a wonderful story. This has been slightly edited, so if it comes up as a new story, it's not!_

Ruth Tracy flinched at the sound of what appeared to be yet another catastrophe down in the kitchen. Praying it wasn't any more of her best china, she strained her ears to try to hear whatever her husband was muttering. Poor Grant. He'd never been at home in the kitchen. The farm was his territory, the house was hers. It wasn't right that he'd had to take on her responsibilities as well as his, especially not at Christmas. He'd tried his best to follow her instructions, but he'd left the meat in the oven too long, and as for the gravy... She should have forced him to go over to his sister's for the day - at least he'd have been properly fed. He'd have had better company, too.

Shifting a little to get more comfortable against the pillows, she let her eyes wander wearily around the room. She was so tired of this place. She'd already endured six weeks of bed rest. Always an active woman, the boredom had started to drive her crazy after just a few days, but she'd put up with it without complaint. She'd have lain there for twenty weeks if only it would have ensured a happy ending...

The door opened and Grant came in, carefully balancing a tray on one hand.

"Here you go," he said, settling it onto her lap.

Ruth looked down, immediately noticing the absence of her favourite coffee cup. So that was what she'd heard.

Grant must have noticed the focus of her gaze as he shuffled awkwardly, mumbling an apology.

"It doesn't matter," his wife told him, sipping her drink. "Not bad. You're getting better at this."

"I've had enough practice lately," Grant reminded her, but there was no smile as he turned to leave.

"Stay a while?" Ruth asked hopefully.

"I've got work to do."

"On Christmas day?"

"I've got to take a look at Sable. That hoof's not healing so well."

"Okay, honey. Maybe later?"

"Maybe."

He'd just reached the door when he paused. For a moment she hoped he'd reconsidered, that the distance between them was bothering him as much as it was her and that he'd decided it was time to put an end to it all, but instead he just reached into his back pocket. "Card for you."

Ruth took it, watching sadly as he left the room before turning her attention to the envelope. She knew the writing immediately: her old friend Judith. It wasn't like her to just drop off a card - usually she'd call round and they'd spend a merry few hours catching up and reminiscing on their school days. Ruth knew why things were different this year, though, of course she did. Judith's fourth child was due in a couple of weeks and she knew that the last thing her friend wanted was to remind Ruth that she'd already brought three healthy babies into the world whilst Ruth hadn't managed one.

Ten years. That was how long they'd been trying. It wasn't supposed to have been this way. When she and Grant had married she'd been so sure that the babies would come along. She'd promised him children when he'd proposed - hardly able to believe that the handsome farmer, the man who could have had any girl in the county if he'd only asked, had chosen her. He was some seven years older than her and she'd fallen in love with him the first time she'd seen him, watching breathlessly along with some friends as the young man had hauled sacks of grain out of the back of his truck, barely breaking a sweat as he hoisted each one onto his broad shoulders. All the girls had wanted him, but only Ruth had been able to catch him.

It was her cooking that had done it. Whilst her friends had flirted shamelessly with him at every opportunity, she'd never been good at that kind of thing, so she'd just kept her head down, embarrassed at the way she blushed whenever she caught his eye. She'd never thought she stood a chance against the other girls, so it was a complete surprise when, at a party where she'd only gone to help with the food, he'd approached her, complimented her on her apple pies - he still swore they were the best in the state - and asked her to dance. He hadn't let go of her hand all night, and just one month later they'd got engaged.

The deal had always been clear. He'd provide a roof over her head and an income from the farm, she'd look after the domestic arrangements. And that included children. He'd made no secret of his desire for a son to carry on the family name and take over the farm when he was too old to manage. She'd made that promise so lightly, never expecting any problems. After all, it was the easiest thing in the world, wasn't it? She knew plenty of girls who'd managed to get pregnant without even trying - often not even wanting the baby. Surely she and Grant, who craved those babies so badly, would soon be welcoming the first of many little Tracys into the world.

Six months after their wedding she'd fallen pregnant.

And six weeks later she'd lost the baby.

It had been a terrible time, but, as people told her, these things happened. They could try again and next time everything would be fine.

It hadn't been fine, though. First of all, it had taken another year. She'd hardly dared celebrate, but Grant had been thrilled, promising her that this time it would all work out. For five months she'd really believed it would. Then it had all gone wrong again.

There had been no celebrations the third time. Instead they'd tried to carry on as normal, both terrified of getting too attached to the growing child, or of making any plans for the future.

Sarah was born at seven months. The birth had been traumatic - Ruth had nearly bled to death - but when she'd awoken in her hospital bed, she'd immediately forgotten the pain and exhaustion in the excitement at finally being a mother. It was only when she'd seen Grant's stricken face that she'd realised fate was against them once again. Her daughter had lived just eight hours, perfect on the outside, but with a heart defect that had gone undetected. If she'd been bigger and stronger there might have been a chance, but in the end there was nothing to be done. Ruth held her daughter as her life ebbed away and wondered if it would have been better to have lost this one early too. This was just too cruel.

That was it as far as babies went. She and Grant had agreed - the doctors had told her that it would be dangerous for her to try to carry another child and, given her inability to produce a healthy baby anyway, there didn't seem much point. For the past six years, she and Grant had focused on each other. His dreams of handing the farm down to a son were gone. He never mentioned Sarah, cutting her off whenever she mentioned the daughter she'd loved so much in the short time she'd known her. It was as if he'd wanted to wipe out the memory of her, and that had hurt almost as much as losing the child in the first place.

There should never have been another baby. The odds on it happening were one in a million, probably more. She'd been unable to believe it when the doctor had called with the results of the tests he'd run. All that tiredness and nausea... She supposed she should have recognised the signs, but she'd pushed all those thoughts away long ago. Grant had been furious. They rarely fought, but when she'd broken the news to him, instead of being shocked, then pleased as she'd hoped, he'd flown into a rage and accused her of doing it on purpose - she'd had to remind him that it took two, and that the last thing she'd ever wanted was to experience the pain of losing another child.

Of course it would end that way. She'd always been a woman to look on the bright side, but after losing three babies, with a doctor who refused to allow her to get her hopes up, she couldn't bring herself to consider any other outcome. It was just a matter of time. There were no preparations for this one in the hope that things might just work out right for once. The nursery, still painted that soft shade of lemon, remained a storeroom - Grant had suggested she take it for a sewing room, but she could never have used it that way, haunted by the absence of the children it was meant for every time she set foot in there. In the attic, the crib that had held Grant and his father before him remained, but they'd long ago given away all the other bits and pieces they'd bought in preparation for a birth. The one thing she did have was clothes. She'd knitted madly for the first baby, then again when Sarah seemed likely to make it full-term. All those cream and white jackets were still locked away in a suitcase. Only one of them was missing, the one she'd dressed her daughter in before her funeral.

It would have helped pass the time if she could have knitted, Ruth thought. Or sewn. But each activity brought back so many memories of the other babies. She couldn't face it. Once she'd made the decision to go ahead with the pregnancy - something else she and Grant had fought over - she'd done her best to rest, as alien as the concept was to a woman who couldn't bear to be still for more than a few minutes. But she'd had no real hope of things turning out differently - and neither had anyone else. No one had congratulated her this time, or promised her that things had to go right just this once. Grant wouldn't even talk about the baby, instead withdrawing from her both physically and emotionally, and she guessed he was already preparing himself for the day when he might lose both wife and baby. The doctors were still uncertain as to the risk she was taking in trying to carry the child, but she didn't care. After losing three children, she couldn't bring herself to deliberately end the life of this one, not even if it cost her her own

When, just over three months into the pregnancy, she'd started to bleed, it had seemed they'd all been justified in their pessimism. Grant had driven her to the hospital, silent and grim-faced, not needing to tell her "_I told you so"_. There had been hours of pain and frantic activity on the part of the hospital staff and Ruth had endured it all, trying to steel herself to bear yet another loss with some dignity, all the while wanting to break down and beg to know the reason why she couldn't do this one simple thing. When everything had calmed down and the doctor had finally smiled, telling her that by some miracle the baby was still hanging on, she'd been totally thrown. But she couldn't get her hopes up, not when there was so much time still to go. After three weeks in hospital she'd been allowed home, but only on the condition that she stayed in bed, the only way she could possibly hope to carry the child to a point where it might have a chance at life.

She'd been thrilled to be home, even though it was torment to be stuck in her room, having to rely on friends and family to help out with the domestic chores. She'd borne it without complaint, hopeful for the first time that things might work out, but another emergency dash to the hospital just over a week ago had finally convinced her that this little one too, would be lost. Now she wasn't allowed out of bed at all. Grant was still keeping his distance, however hard she begged him to talk to her, and there were times when all she could do was cry.

She'd come so close. The doctor had told her that if the baby could hold on until the New Year it would surely have a chance. But last night the pain had started again and she'd thought that was it. She was about to call Grant when the pain had eased and, so far, much to her surprise, it hadn't returned. But the baby, not particularly active before, hadn't moved since, and she was convinced that if she hadn't already lost it, it would only be a matter of time. If it hadn't been Christmas Day she'd have given up and told Grant to take her back to the hospital, but that would have ruined everyone's holiday. She might as well wait another day.

If only she knew whether the baby was a girl or a boy. She'd refused when she'd had the chance to find out, not wanting to get too attached to a life she knew would fade away like all the rest. But now she wished she could call it by its name. Hannah for a girl, Grant Junior for a boy... Neither felt real, though, and she took it as another sign that this baby was destined to end up like its siblings.

A tap at the door startled her and she realised that she'd been dozing.

"Ruth?"

"Barbara!" Ruth pushed herself up as her friend moved to help plump up the pillows. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"I had to get out of the house. My family are driving me insane. How are you?"

Ruth shrugged, "The same." It wasn't exactly a lie, she told herself. It was exactly the same as the other three times...

"Well that's good." Barbara narrowed her eyes in response to the look her friend gave her. "It _is _good, Ruth. Every day that goes by takes you closer to holding that baby in your arms."

Ruth turned away for a moment, unable to tell her friend that she was scared it was already too late. Barbara was the only one who seemed to believe this baby would survive. Maybe because she'd been away for the past few years, so hadn't had to witness her friend's misery at first hand. She'd never have been so openly optimistic if she'd seen how shattered Ruth had been before, especially after the loss of Sarah. She'd get the chance soon, though, Ruth thought.

"I mean it, Ruth. That's my little godchild in there, remember."

Ruth had to smile at that, picturing Grant's face if she ever got the chance to tell him what she'd promised her friend. He disapproved of Barbara, one of the girls who'd thrown herself so shamelessly at him all those years ago, though, unlike some of Ruth's friends, she'd admitted defeat gracefully before leaving for Kansas City where she'd married and divorced twice before returning to her parents' home. She was as unlike Ruth Tracy as it was possible to be, yet the two women remained firm friends. Ruth didn't know what she'd have done without Barbara over the past few months.

"Next Christmas, you'll look back at this one and realise it was worth it. All of it. You'll be a wonderful mother, Ruth."

"Barbara, don't."

"You will. You can do this, Ruth. This little one wants to live. It wouldn't have come this far if it didn't."

Pulling off her coat she removed the tray from the side of the bed and sat down in its place.

"Grant's looking after you, then?"

"Yes. I tried to persuade him to go to his family for Christmas, but he wouldn't leave the farm."

"You mean he wouldn't leave you. He loves you, Ruth."

Ruth smiled sadly. "I suppose so. I just wish he'd talk to me. I think he's pushing me away now so it won't hurt as much when it all goes wrong again."

"All that will change in a few months. He'll make a good father."

Ruth had to turn away, hoping to hide the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes.

"Ruth, what's wrong?"

Unable to tell her friend what she feared, Ruth changed the subject. After all, she had more than one child to cry over.

"Did you do it?" she asked.

"Of course I did. I told her you'd have come yourself if you could have."

"This is the first Christmas I've missed," Ruth said, dabbing at her eyes. "I hated the thought of her not having anyone to visit."

"She was never alone," Barbara said, pulling out her phone.

"What do you mean?"

"Look." Barbara showed her a picture of a tiny grave, the headstone bearing the inscription: _Sarah Anne Tracy, beloved daughter_. In front of it were two bunches of flowers. One Ruth recognised, having chosen it herself and asked Barbara to take it there for her. The other was a simple handful of wild daisies clumsily tied with string.

Ruth stared at it for a moment before Barbara moved onto the next picture. She'd taken a close-up of the card which had been pushed in amongst the stems: _Love Daddy..._

"Like I said, he'll be a wonderful father," Barbara said, catching her friend's hand.

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Barbara got up to make some coffee. Ruth was grateful to have some time alone and by the time the other woman returned, she had composed herself a little. Barbara patted her shoulder then rooted around in her bag.

"I bought you a present."

"You already gave me that scarf."

"Ah, but this is special. I thought it would help pass the time. I found it when I was looking for a gift for Tommy."

Ruth tore the wrapping off and stared at the DVD inside before looking up at her friend in some confusion.

"Now I know you don't really like science-fiction," Barbara told her, "But have you _seen _the guy who stars in this? He's the image of your Grant."

Ruth looked at the cover again and had to smile. The actor certainly had a look of Grant about him, though the thought of her husband in a tight silver bodysuit made her laugh. "_Jefferson Starr: one man and his mission to save the universe... _It sounds awful, Barbara."

"It is. But I thought it might make you laugh."

"I can't see Grant in a spaceship somehow." Ruth smiled, feeling suddenly grateful to her friend. It was the first time today that she hadn't been moping about the miserable hand life had dealt her.

Barbara moved over to the TV and soon the opening credits were running as Jefferson Starr, eyes twinkling and teeth sparkling, set upon some lizard-like alien twice his size, dispatching it one-handed before pulling a scantily-dressed slave-girl into his embrace.

Ruth couldn't help laughing and Barbara got to her feet with a satisfied smile.

"That's better. Now then, I've got to get going. I've got a date with Dale."

"I thought you were seeing Kenny?"

Barbara winked at her. "That was yesterday."

Ruth shook her head at her friend as she left the room. Sitting back, she sighed and reached for the remote control. Five minutes of bad sci-fi was her limit, especially when the handsome actor just reminded her of the husband who was so unwilling to spend any time with her right now.

It was a shock when the baby suddenly kicked, feebly at first, then harder. Ruth held her breath, scarcely able to believe it was happening. She waited anxiously, and, sure enough, a second later, the baby kicked again, more forcefully than it had ever done before.

She found herself laughing out loud. Thank goodness she hadn't worried Grant. There was still a chance. For the second time in an hour she found herself crying, but they were tears of joy and gratitude this time.

It was a long time before she pulled herself together, feeling better than she'd done for a long time. Realising the DVD was still playing she went to turn it off, then, in response to another kick, let the remote drop. "You like those space ships, do you? Hmm, your Auntie Barbara's right, that man does look a lot like your daddy..."

The baby settled and Ruth rested her hand over the bump for a moment. She couldn't help feeling a sudden surge of hope.

This one did want to live.


End file.
